Hello WWRD fans! I've now moved to blogging with my colleague Linda Holmes over at Monkey See.

But while you're here you might as well check out the latest WWRD video:

That's right, the Fat Tuesday party begins today down in the Big Easy. But since I can't be there to celebrate, tonight I'm planning to bring a little bit of Mardi Gras back to my modest DC apartment. I've got some beads, some purple, green, and black duds, and I'm going to try my hand at some Cajun cuisine. Now I don't do gumbo, but I am looking into making beignets. I've found a great recipe here, which purports to be better than the batter mix you get from the famous Cafe Du Monde. Here you can watch "Bugsy" experience a tasty beignet.

Oh Bugsy you slay me!

It seems as though the secret to great beignets is to get the oil hot enough so the little fried fritters rise to the top. The only problem is the last time I fried something in my kitchen (latkes for Hannukah) the smell consumed the whole apartment building and soon after my neighbors came knocking wanting to get in on the action. Perhaps I should double the recipe...

Michael Duva, Getty Images

"You let me change lanes, when I was driving in my car..."

My wife Anna and I were packing last night for a small road trip we're taking this weekend. She got busy loading up all the essentials, like clothes, food, first aid kit, etc.

I decided it was my job to get together another big essential for the trip — the music. As I rifled through my collection, I realized that Saturday is Valentine's Day so I asked Anna what she wanted to hear. Turns out she's not so into hardcore rap or techno when she's in the car. She prefers something a little more relaxing to put her in a good mood and take her mind off the traffic.

So now I'm making her a mixtape for the road trip with some songs that not only calm you down, but also might restore your faith in humanity...both on and off the road.

Here are the first five songs on my new anti-road-rage mix.

1) Whoever You Are
Geggy Tah

2) Instant Karma
John Lennon

3) Kind and Generous
Natalie Merchant

4) Float On
Modest Mouse

5) I Can See Clearly Now
Johnny Nash

Happy Valentine's Day. Hope it's a good one.

Thomas J Peterson Getty Images

These are cheap and easy.

With the economic crisis in full effect, I'm guessing this Valentine's Day is probably going to be a little less extravagant. While February 14th can fill your heart with love and romance, it can also cause grief and sorrow by emptying your wallet. Even if you spend money on a gift, there's no guarantee it won't be lame.

In this week's podcast I talked to Michele Beschen, host and creator of the B. Original Series on DIY Network and HGTV, about some frugal and innovative ways to show your love. Click above to listen to her suggestions. She even has ideas about how Valentine's Day can be a catalyst for being romantic all year long. It's easier than you might think and certainly beats shelling out $160 for two dozen roses.

By the way, if you're thinking of putting rose petals in a bathtub, DON'T! There's a good chance they could be toxic.

Yesterday was my daughter's first birthday and since then I've had Paul Simon's "Father and Daughter" stuck in my head today. If my little one has any song in her head it has to be "Happy Birthday" which was sung to her multiple times including one table side rendition from the good folks at The Cheesecake Factory. Thanks guys it was very nice. Much bettter than this version:

But I was thinking what resaturant has the best rendition of "Happy Birthday"? Benihana's is pretty decent, bonus points for singing it in two languages:

But then again for my daughter's 2nd birthday maybe we'll head to Victor Cafe in Philadelphia where the waiters are professional singers:

Paul J. Richards AFP/Getty Images

Kennedy at the DNC

Click above to listen to my latest podcast on verbal ticks. I was inspired to look into this topic by Caroline Kennedy's not so eloquent interviews recently. For tips on how to have clearer speaking habits, I spoke with Jana Barnhill, the International President of Toastmasters International, an organization that helps people become better public speakers and leaders.

According to Barnhill, to get rid of verbal ticks, or "garbage words" as she likes to call them, you have to become more cognizant of what you're saying. You might try having a friend listen and record how many times you say "like," "um," "ah," and "you know." Kind of like this:

Barnill told me the next step is to practice, practice, practice. You can also try speaking more slowly and pausing periodically which she says "can be very powerful and very effective in a speech." I have caught myself uttering "you know" more than I should when talking, too. I've found a way to practice at home. By reading books out loud to my daughter I've become a more deliberate talker, and hopefully this has, you know, cleaned up my speech a little.

Scott Gries, Getty Images Entertainment

"That was dreadful"

It's that time of year again. Yes, American Idol is back for its 8th season, once again proving that thousands of people are willing to submit themselves to Simon Cowell's criticism in pursuit of all that Hollywood has to offer: fame, glamor, and, of course, the Hollywood hair makeover. Yes, American Idol is a spectacle, but it's one that always gets me thinking. How do people really get on this show?

To find out what really happens at the Idol auditions, I called up an old college friend, Ian Lear-Nickum, who is currently the lead singer of a band called Vaeda.
But before he became a rockstar, he was like many a rockstar hopeful. Back in 2003 he tried out for American Idol, but didn't make it past the show producers who screen contestants and select the lucky few that get to sing in front of the judges. He thinks getting picked has more to do with luck and chance than talent. He also thinks song selection is a major factor. He sang an Incubus song, which in hindsight might not have been "pop" enough for them. So Ian never got to experience the scowl of Simon Cowell, so I'm calling around to some other contestants to see how their auditions went and will report back later.

Timothy A. Clary, AFP

Listening to Morning Edition today I was intrigued by Ina Jaffe's reporting from Kentucky where she had met up with a group traveling to the inauguration. What struck me was how despite the tremendous effort the group is making to come to DC, none of them have tickets and will most likely be watching the ceremony from a mile or two away on a jumbotron. Ina said that didn't matter, they were coming to witness history.

This got me thinking. What does it mean to actually be at an event? There have been a lot of events over the years that I've attended, but didn't actually participate in or witness with my own eyes. I'm wondering do they still count? Here are my top 3:

# 1) The Running of the Bulls, Pamplona, Spain: I was there for the festival of San Fermin, got red wine stains all over my shirt, and slept in a public park where they wake people up with sirens to let them know when the bulls are coming, but I didn't technically run with the bulls, I was more of a bystander (a guy with a huge scar on his stomach from a bull horn convinced me not to do it).

#2) Steve Miller Band Concert, Washington, D.C.: My wife and I went with some friends who had gotten us all lawn seats. We ended up getting there late and wound up sitting so far back we couldn't even see the band performing. It was almost like we were listening to a CD of them rather than a live show.

#3) Phillies World Series Parade, Philadelphia, PA: This past October when the Phillies won the World Series, I took my family to the parade. We sprinted to Broad Street hoping to catch the team on the big float, but ran into a huge wall of people blocking all potential lines of sight. We had to settle for just cheering without actually seeing anything.

When it comes to the inauguration tomorrow, people here in D.C. will be participating in all different ways. Some will be seated by the steps of the Capitol, some like the group from Kentucky will be watching from the jumbotrons on the mall, and others will be attending viewing parties with friends. Wherever they end up watching from tomorrow, each will have to decide for themselves if they were there.

As for me, I'll be there watching and listening to every word of Obama's speech from my prime vantage point in front of a TV at NPR's headquarters (which technically is even closer to the Capitol than some people will be who are on the mall). So yeah, I'm counting that as "there."

This coming Sunday my Philadelphia Eagles will do what seemed impossible a mere month ago: play for the chance to go to the Superbowl. I have to admit, I was one of the ones who lost faith. The low point in the season was when the Eagles tied the Cincinnati Bengals and after the game quarterback Donovan McNabb admitted that he didn't even know that an NFL game could end in a tie.

But since that disgraceful moment, McNabb has more than redeemed himself with the last three spectacular victories against the Cowboys, Vikings, and Giants. I'm hoping the die-hards will take my broken wings and let me fly with them again. In repentance for my temporary lapse of support, I've now made a commitment to the "Iggles" via my facial hair. Yes, I'm growing a playoff beard.

I started mine the Sunday before the first win over the Minnesota Vikings and tried to keep it going despite the fact that it got unbelievably itchy. I sure would have benefited from knowing about a product like this ointment. Or at the very least I could have taken the advice of this beard connoisseur, who says if you wait out the itch it will eventually go away when your beard gets long enough.

I have been determined to keep this going, but I ran into some real problems when I tried to tame my beard. I was looking to clean up my neckline, but it didn't come out so well. Might have had something to do with the fact that I was shaving in the shower with a triple blade razor and a mirror that was half fogged over. The result wasn't pretty. It looked like Wooly Willy after losing half of his metal shavings. I decided to modify my beard into a goatee, which I think technically still counts because it was inspired, after all, by Mr. McNabb himself.

Al Bello/Getty Images

"Can you forgive me, Donovan?"

If the goatee doesn't work out, does it count if it becomes a playoff mustache? Even if it does, I'm not so sure my wife will go along with it. Already she says my goatee makes me look like some sleazy guy she dated in college. Maybe I could sport a playoff soul patch. Of course, if the Eagles lose to Arizona this weekend, I'll probably just shave off my whiskers so my tears can freely flow down my face.

I bought a new coat this winter that finally replaces the one I bought at Sears with my mother back when I was in high school. I loved that old coat even if it was really worn out and had a huge rip in it. My new coat is much better except for one thing, it doesn't have a hood. And that's a problem because even when clouds are gray I've long abandoned the idea of bringing an umbrella to work. In the rare event I remember to take one with me, I inevitably lose it at some point in the day. Sometimes I get the feeling I'm just the victim of umbrella theft but I haven't been able to prove that so far.

I didn't think this would be a big deal until earlier this week when I made the decision to walk out for lunch in the rain (it wasn't just drizzling, it was POURING).

I was drenched to the point where my pants where soaked, and my head was dripping wet. Now I might not mind this if I was, say, out on a romantic date where being deluged would add this cool drama to things, like in this scene in the movie "The Notebook."

Yeah, that's right I liked that movie. But in the office, being completely wet from head to toe is not so cool. I had no hair dryer, so what did I do? I have a small fan in my office so I tried without much success to dry myself off with it. I wound up just being soggy the rest of the afternoon. I think next time it pours, instead of trying to remember an umbrella, I'll just try remember to pack my lunch.

DKP, Getty Images

"Just think, this could be me..."

Here's a link to the latest podcast where I talk more with NPR's David Kestenbaum about the advice Mark Rippetoe has for getting fit. From the responses to my blog post, I can tell there are many devotees to Mr. Rippetoe out there. Not surprising because he seems to really know his stuff.

It seems like the biggest hurdle to overcome in changing your habits is finding that initial motivation to get you started in a new direction. The good news is that after a while it gets easier and just becomes a part of your lifestyle. When I signed up for the marathon in San Diego, I was motivated by the fact that I told all my friends that I was going to run it and I didn't want to end up not finishing. This fear of looking like a moron got me out there. And the more workouts I did, the easier it was to keep it up (and yes I ran the whole thing and finished!).

Now I think I need to find a new kind of motivation because this tactic failed me recently. Last summer I signed up for a 8K in Fairfax, Virginia, but my training didn't go very well (or, more like it didn't really happen at all). I finished the race, but had the painful shame of walking about half of the race because I wasn't in very good shape.

Will the desire to get rid of my pudge be enough motivation to start following Rippetoe's regimen? I'm still wondering can weight lifting be fun? I don't see a lot of body builders smiling when they're working out. Still, Rippetoe makes a compelling argument for weight training so if it means I'll be a healthier person overall I think I might need to give it a second chance.

CrossFit Inc.

Weight training is more than just "Head, shoulders, knees, and toes."

Up until my mid 20's, I was one of those lucky guys who could down a milkshake, burger, and fries and then laugh about how fast my metabolism could burn it away. I never quite made it to the Michael Phelps 10,000 calories a day plan, but I didn't really have to think too hard about staying in shape.

The pinnacle of my athletic experience came in 2003 when I ran the Rock and Roll Marathon in San Diego, California. Since then, it's been a slow slide down a few notches on my belt. It's not that I don't want to exercise; I just have a lot going on with my new daddy duties which makes it hard to figure out when to fit it in. Thankfully, my new pudge is nothing too alarming at this point. I haven't had to make any wardrobe changes yet, but I'd like to start this new year by trying to get into some better habits so I can hopefully reverse the trend.

Fortunately, my older brother, who is very into fitness and weight training, was able to point me in the right direction. He said the best person to talk to about getting in shape is Mark Rippetoe. Rippetoe has literally changed my brother's life. Big bro wound up canceling all of his muscle magazine subscriptions once he read about Rippetoe's training philosophy. I figure anyone that can do that is worth a call. Click above to hear my conversation with Rippetoe.

In my podcast next week I'll be talking over Rippetoe's tips with NPR's David Kestenbaum, but in the meantime if you have a comment on anything he said in the interview, feel free to post.

Timothy A. Clary, AFP/Getty Images

"I'll be no where near here on New Year's Eve."

New Year's Eve always seems to be a let down for me. Whether it was having to go to bed too early as a kid, or my parents making me stay home while all my high school friends went to Times Square, I always felt like somewhere other than where I was, people were having a lot more fun than me.

The one exception was New Year's 2005 when my wife and I saw The Killers perform at the Giant Village event in Los Angeles. That was pretty cool. But apart from that, my New Year's Eves have been marked by sitting in front of a TV watching other people go nuts at raucous parties around the world.

Last year was my last chance to do it up big time before fatherhood, so I went with my 8-month pregnant wife to a New Year's party in downtown Washington, D.C. We got to the restaurant at 7:30 p.m. (the early seating) and were promptly told that our table needed to be vacated by 9:30 p.m. (the later seating). This meant they were clearing the plates as fast as we could eat — not what you'd call fine dining.

After dinner, we headed downstairs to the restaurant's club. It was basically empty at 9:31 p.m save for the cheesy party lights, a foul smelling fog machine and a sparse crowd of clueless early birds like ourselves. I was a little nervous about how my wife would hold up on the dance floor. I was imagining the worst, like if her water broke or something like that (I hope that video isn't real). Fortunately, that was one scenario I didn't have to face.

About an hour and half later, my wife's feet were killing her, and it was clear coming was a bad decision. That notion was confirmed moments later when we spotted the gross used car salesman whom we had met the week before. He was trying to talk up some ladies at the bar. Check please! We made our way for the door, only to be met by a mass of partygoers who were now swarming the entranceway. It was the first time I had to fight my way to get to the BACK of the line at a club. We did however make it home well in time to watch the ball drop from our couch, which wound up being far more romantic anyway.

As predicted, the birth of our daughter also brought along the demise of our late nights out. With the cost of babysitters obscenely high these days, more often than not, my wife and I tend to go out early and take the baby with us. Saturday night dinners used to start at 8:00 p.m. and last long into the night while we lingered over a good bottle of wine. Now we rub achy joints with the geriatric crowd. Getting seated at 4:45 p.m. means we can still make it home for our daughter's bedtime.

Luckily, this New Year's Eve our friends who also have a baby came up with an ingenious plan: In honor of the husband's Northern Irish roots, we'll be throwing confetti at the same time as his mates in Belfast (which is at precisely 7:00pm ET). So I'll have my champagne and maybe a shot of Irish whiskey as well, and still have my daughter in bed by a decent hour. I'm wondering, do you think she'd appreciate a mirrored ball hanging above her crib, you know kind of like a New Years mobile?

Above is the podcast I did this week with my fantasy football organizer Mike Pesca. In case you're wondering, my fantasy team came in dead last in his league (I know, it's sad). In some other competitions, the worst player actually gets a prize, too. It's called "Shooting the Moon" like in the card game Hearts. Pesca had nothing for me, the only consolation prize I got was that he let me vent to him about how poorly I played.

Tom Hauck, Getty Images Sports

"This pretty much sums up my fantasy football season."

But just rehashing my dismal play to Pesca, while cathartic, wasn't necessarily going to make me a better player. I figured if I was really going to turn around my fantasy losses for next season, I'd have to talk to a real life expert. I turned to ESPN.com's Matthew Berry (known in the fantasy world as "The Talented Mr. Roto"). In case you're wondering, "Roto" stands for "Rotisserie League" another term for Fantasy Leagues.

Berry explained to me that my biggest problem was inattentiveness. I made some rookie mistakes like leaving in active players who were injured, or whose team was on a bye week. In my defense, I had thought this would be done automatically by the computer, (kind of like a fail-safe for slouchers).

My other big problem was that I played with my heart, not my head. According to Berry, if you want to win, you have to think of players as "statistical pieces of meat." For Berry, a die-hard Redskins fan, that means picking some Dallas Cowboys players. Whoa, that may be taking things a little too far.

But even though the fantasy football season is drawing to a close, there are other virtual ways I can show off my sports know-how. Matthew Berry told me about ESPN's Gridiron Challenge, which is a form of fantasy football for the playoffs, except you don't have to monitor your team every week. Now that's the kind of fantasy football this La-Z-Boy likes to play.